


If You're Making Tea

by ClandestinePen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Poor People Skills, Sherlock is spectacularly ignorant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:16:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClandestinePen/pseuds/ClandestinePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Boring people wouldn’t.” Sherlock went back to his book as if the accusations that hung in the air weren’t pointing directing at him.</p><p>“Sane people wouldn’t,” John corrected.</p><p>“Sane people are boring,” Sherlock replied.'</p><p>A gift to theirtragedy for the Johnlock Challenges Grab Bag Exchange who gave the great dialogue prompt: “So he hasn’t told you.” “Told me /what/?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You're Making Tea

“I said, if you’re making tea, I’ll have some,” Sherlock said as John walked in the door.  
  
“And when did you say that?” John asked as he pulled his coat off to hang up.  
  
“Maybe twenty minutes ago.”  
  
John sighed. The sink was empty of the dishes that were piled in it when he left two hours before, but John attributed the clean-up to Mrs Hudson. It certainly couldn’t have been the doing of Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective, Lazy Git and World’s Most Accomplished Cockblock.  
  
As he filled the kettle with water, John imagined several ways to begin the talk he needed to have with his flatmate. This line he was walking grew smaller and more difficult to balance on every day. What could he possibly say that would make Sherlock understand?  
  
Sherlock grunted a thank you when John pushed the hot mug into his hands. John didn’t have tea. He had a beer. The detective eyed the choice suspiciously.  
  
“I’m assuming I won’t have to see your girlfriend at the flat anymore,” he said.  
  
“No, Sherlock, you won’t. Turns out most women don’t enjoy weeks of broken dates followed by childhood trauma being brought up before dinner because their boyfriend’s flatmate spotted an unusual piece of jewelry.” John tried to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, but he couldn’t.  
  
“Boring people wouldn’t.” Sherlock went back to his book as if the accusations that hung in the air weren’t pointing directing at him.  
  
“Sane people wouldn’t,” John corrected.  
  
“Sane people are boring,” Sherlock replied.  
  
John considered that for a moment, then stood up and marched across the room. He stuffed his arms back into his coat and shrugged it on. His flatmate opened his mouth to ask where he was going, but John walked out before the words could be spoken.  
  
The flat went silent again, and Sherlock was left to his thoughts.  
  
~~~  
  
 _Bring home milk. SH_  
  
 _And bread. SH_  
  
 _Do you want some takeaway later? My treat. SH_  
  
 _Too late for takeaway now. Could call Mycroft’s personal chef. If you want some cake. SH_  
  
 _John, where are you? It’s been hours. SH_  
  
~~~  
  
Dawn broke. Sherlock watched the room that was in blue shadow streak with gold as light poured in through the windows. The urge to do something overtook him, and he paced in circles.  
  
This behavior was new, and unacceptable. John never stayed out all night without at least one text. Even when he did spend the night elsewhere, it was always with one of his pesky girlfriends. And Sherlock had just taken care of one of them. Surely he hadn’t found another on such short notice. He would never go stay with his sister. She wasn’t local, and John could only take her in small doses. Showing up after nine on a weeknight to ask for a place to stay would lead to uncomfortable conversations, and John was the master of avoiding those.  
  
Was John hurt? Abducted?  
  
Finished?  
  
What day was it? Did John have a shift at the surgery? Sherlock recalled John leaving the flat at 7:24 am one morning saying that he had to go to work, and decided that he would meet John there. John was a man of routine when he wasn’t a man engaged in danger. Barring illness or Sherlock, John wouldn’t skip work.  
  
The waiting room was already filling up when Sherlock arrived. He cheated a bit, using a taxi rather than the tube. He started out later, after all. The smell of cleaning supplies and isopropyl alcohol reminded Sherlock of Bart’s, and triggered the memory of seeing John walk through the door with Mike Stamford. He had a limp back then, and merely one day later Sherlock cured it. Shortly following that, John returned the favour by taking a man’s life. More than returned the favour. From that day on, they were connected. One came with the other. And they were in constant debt to each other, though neither man kept track.  
  
“I need to see Dr Watson,” Sherlock said to the white haired woman sitting behind the reception desk.  
  
“What?” she asked.  
  
“Dr Watson. I need to see him. It is quite urgent.”  
  
“If you need to see a doctor, you need to make an appointment. Give me your name so I can look you up in the system.” She turned to the computer at her left and gave Sherlock an expectant look.  
  
“I don’t need to see a doctor. I need to see that doctor. And right away.” He was too tired (and worried, though he’d never use that word) to turn on the charm. Willfullness, then.  
  
“Is there a problem?” asked a familiar voice.  
  
Sherlock looked to the source, and found one of John’s former girlfriends. The first one, the clever one that was kidnapped on their first date. Ah, Sarah. Her name earned a place of permanence in Sherlock’s memory. She’d help.  
  
“Sarah. I need to see John. Right away.”  
  
“John? Didn’t he tell you?” she asked. Her eyebrows knitted in concern.  
  
“Tell me what?” Sherlock snapped.  
  
“He doesn’t work here. He hasn’t worked here in months,” she replied. She seemed unfazed by Sherlock’s sharp tongue.  
  
“What?”  
  
“When his blog took off and got the two of you so many paying cases, he decided to work with you full time and stop missing his shifts here,” said Sarah. “It’s been months. Didn’t you notice that he’d stopped going to work five days a week?”  
  
Had he noticed? John had been more available to him recently, he’d noticed that. And if he thought about it yes, John had not been leaving the flat in the early morning in the last few weeks. Or months.  
  
“Where is he then?” Sherlock asked.  
  
“I can’t say I’ve seen him since he quit. Why don’t you text him?”  
  
“He won’t answer,” Sherlock said harshly. Then he took a deep breath and reevaluated the situation. Sarah could be useful. “Maybe it’s my phone. It hasn’t been working properly. Mind if I borrow yours?”  
  
She handed it over with much less of a fuss than he expected, and told him to leave it with the receptionist when he’d finished. A quick scroll through her sent messages revealed that she preferred to text full sentences, and didn’t sign or initial.  
  
 _Hi John. I need help with something. Available?_  
  
A request for assistance. John, helpful and kind John, wouldn’t be able to resist.  
  
 _Hello Sarah. Been a while. How are you? What’s the matter?_  
  
Got him.  
  
 _I need to talk. Can you meet me for coffee at the surgery in an hour with your laptop?_  
  
 _Sure. Best make it an hour and a half though._  
  
Sherlock paid double the fare to get back to the flat before John. The laptop was there, and so John must stop by before he “met Sarah”. Judging by the time frame he gave, Sherlock had just enough time to beat him there.  
  
Once he walked into the parlour and checked to see that John’s laptop was indeed still on his favourite chair by the fireplace, Sherlock began to pace again. Why had he come up with the ruse of a mid-morning coffee with Sarah? Seeing John respond to the first text was enough to know that John was alive and free. But there was the problem. If John was responding to texts from Sarah’s phone, that meant he was just ignoring the ones from Sherlock’s.  
  
Which was fine. It should be fine. John was an adult and capable of making his own choices, wasn’t he? Obviously he wanted time and space away from Sherlock. But why? And more importantly, for how long? He mulled over the possibilities.  
  
The sounds of a familiar, if hurried, gait coming up the steps interrupted his thoughts. A moment later John walked into the room.  
  
“Morning,” he said as if by rote.  
  
“Good morning,” Sherlock replied. “Have a good night?”  
  
“Oh, so you noticed I’d gone out this time,” John said. He stooped over the back of the chair to grab his laptop.  
  
“I did.” Sherlock sat in his chair and gestured to John’s. “Sit.”  
  
“I can’t. I’ve got to run. I’ve got...”  
  
“No, you don’t.”  
  
“I don’t what?” John asked, tilting his head to the left.  
  
“You don’t have an appointment to meet with your former employer. So you have time. Have a seat.”  
  
“Wait, how did you know about that? I didn’t even know until this morning.”  
  
Sherlock sighed. Must everything be explained? “She didn’t, either. And she still doesn’t. I deleted the incoming and outgoing texts from her mobile.”  
  
“You... wait, no, you used her phone to text me to get me to come back here?” John asked. His eyes were wide with disbelief. “How did you get her phone without her knowing?”  
  
“She did know. I asked to use it. Do try to keep up. And sit.” Sherlock pointed again to John’s empty chair.  
  
This time John obeyed, and sat staring at the other man. After a long silence, John held out both hands, palms turning up, and said, “Well?”  
  
“Well what?”  
  
“Well, you went across town to borrow my ex-girlfriend’s phone in an elaborate plot to get me to come back here. Must be a reason.”  
  
Sherlock looked at John, examined him. He was wearing the same clothes he left the flat in, but they weren’t wrinkled enough to have been slept in. So either John hadn’t slept or he had but borrowed clothing. The latter. His blue eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep, but not heavy the way they were after an all-night crime chase. He must have had a few hours. To Sherlock’s knowledge John didn’t get on well with any of his former girlfriends except the one who was also his former boss, but obviously John didn’t stay with her last night. So it would have had to be a male friend. Mike Stamford was a possibility, but his clothing size would have made it impossible for him to have loaned John suitable nightwear. Who else lived within that same distance that would have easy access to clothing in a similar size to John? Judging from the grey hairs on John’s thighs, it would also have to be someone with a grey cat. Ah.  
  
“Did Lestrade put you on his sofa last night?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He didn’t ask how Sherlock knew. He didn’t praise Sherlock’s reasoning. He just answered the question.  
  
This was serious.  
  
“You’re angry with me.” Sherlock’s voice didn’t leave room for question. This was something he knew to be fact.  
  
“Not as much as I was last night.” John looked down at his hands resting on his knees.  
  
“Is this about Laura?”  
  
“Lindsay,” John corrected.  
  
“Is this about Lindsay?” Sherlock asked again.  
  
“Yes. A bit.”  
  
“What’s the other bit?”  
  
“You don’t want to hear it,” John warned. “Look, I should have responded to one of the texts. I’m sorry. I just needed some space. I can’t completely ignore everyone in the room like you. I need to physically leave to be able to get space.”  
  
All attempts to discover the reason for John’s anger himself were useless. Except for one thought that tried to get through. Sherlock vehemently pushed it aside.  
  
“I created an ‘elaborate plot’ to get you here. You may as well tell me why you left,” he said.  
  
John shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “You are my friend, Sherlock. You are my flatmate and my friend and my colleague. Those are all brilliant things to be. But I need more. And you can’t keep taking that from me for your own amusement.”  
  
“You think I talked about Laura’s alcoholic mother to amuse myself?” Sherlock asked, though if he were honest he would admit that was partially true.  
  
“I don’t know why you do it. But it makes me angry, Sherlock.” He spoke slowly, as if to a child. “It isn’t just about getting off. It’s about making a connection with another person. It’s about not being alone every morning for the rest of my life.”  
  
“You aren’t alone. We do live together.”  
  
“That isn’t what I mean, and you know it,” John said.  
  
“You used to like it when I’d make observations about people.” These words were softer, but Sherlock successfully fought off the crack his voice threatened to make.  
  
“I did, and I still do. And I always will. But other people don’t like it when you reveal something they don’t want the world to know.”  
  
“If this Laura left you because of something I said she hardly seems worth your time,” Sherlock said.  
  
“That isn’t exactly how it happened,” John said.  
  
“Then how, exactly, did it happen?”  
  
“I broke it off with her because she called you a freak,” John said. He looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes.  
  
Sherlock was the first to burst out with a deep laugh, but John’s giggle soon followed. The tension melted away and tiny tears threatened to spill from their eyes as they both laughed thoroughly.  
  
“I’m afraid you will have a difficult time finding a suitable companion that will tolerate you breaking off dates when cases come up and me,” Sherlock said when the laughter died down.  
  
“That’s probably true,” John said.  
  
“But you like the cases.”  
  
“Don’t want to give up either one,” John agreed.  
  
What was it that John said that first night on their first case at Angelo’s? “Do you have a boyfriend?” The way he asked, Sherlock assumed his intent right away and politely turned him down. Was it too late to revisit that? Sherlock didn’t want to, hadn’t wanted to, be in a relationship for years. But now? Yes. He would like to give that a try. John’s eyes had returned to his hands, and Sherlock seized his moment. He leaned forward and joined his lips to John’s.  
  
John’s lips were rough. Dehydrated. Had he drank heavily the night before? But the pressure was soft. They parted so soon Sherlock could almost doubt it happened at all. He brought his hand to John’s cheek and pressed another kiss into his forehead.  
  
“I’m going to have a shower. If you’re making tea, I’ll take a cup,” Sherlock said.  
  
“What?” The lids were heavy over John’s blue eyes, as if he were a little stunned. Yes, Sherlock congratulated himself on navigating this part of the interaction correctly. John needed time alone to process. And decide. And (maybe) agree.  
  
“I said, if you’re making tea I’ll have some."

**Author's Note:**

> Theirtragedy, I hope you liked it! That was a great prompt, and I had fun with it. 
> 
> Everyone else, as always I thank you dearly for reading and I hope you enjoyed it as well.


End file.
